Another Chance
by MegadetH999
Summary: The continuing tale of a man that has no business staying alive for as long as he has. This is my first fic, so make sure to leave reviews! Note: this story is based off of the Last Chancers series by Gav Thorpe, which I would recommend reading to fully understand what's going on.
1. Prologue

The steel mountain of Hive Armageddon stretches kilometers into the ashen skies, fires raging out of control across its surface. The polluted wastes stretching around its base are littered with the debris of centuries of war, rusting hulks of tanks, armored carriers, and crashed aircraft, slowly decaying into the sands they lie in. Amid the wreckage, movement stirs. A man pulls himself towards one of the wrecks, each movement labored, but inexorably he works his way to its base. Then grabbing onto a track with unnatural strength, he hauls himself on top, beside the turret. He lies there for a minute, then props himself up against the side away from the hive. His head tilts from side to side as he surveys the land, before finally he drops back down to the ground, and begins to stride into the wastes, the tattered, stained remains of some unrecognizable uniform pulled around his face.

An unblinking pair of lenses follows the man's stride with interest. A bulky, black-armored figure slips back into the shadow of a crumbling retaining wall, his decision made. Encrypted vox messages are sent far to the west, towards the buried remains of an ancient vessel, a relic of the past wars for this planet. The warrior pulls his white cape closer around him and begins a long trudge of his own, towards some unknown objective.

* * *

The two men circle around the ring, each intently focused on the other. One looks nervous, scavenged armor festooned with chains and spikes hanging awkwardly off his wiry body, the other maintaining a blank expression, his clawed hands dangling easily on the sides of his stained rags. Shouts of laughter echo around the smoky room, as bets and punches are exchanged in equal measure between the huge robed warriors in the audience. The armored contestant suddenly charges forward, angling his spiked shoulder guard towards his foe. The other fighter quickly sidesteps him, and with a vicious grin rakes his clawed fingers across the other man's face. The man stumbles, but regains his footing, and with a bellow of rage swings a fist with speed that would send any normal person to the floor. This time the claws grab him by the throat, and with a quick twist his neck breaks. The victor is led out of the ring as another set of contestants enter, then down a set of stairs into a large, surprisingly clean white-walled chamber, shelves of neatly organized blades, needles, and tweezers arranged around a single slab in the center. The sole occupant of the room, a towering man in ornate armor, looks up at him without interest, gesturing towards a set of manacles on the slab. For the first time the uniformed man looks uncertain, his scarred face betraying a hint of fear. A snarl from the armored man compels him forward, and as he lies down, the manacles snap shut around first his ankles, then his arms, then finally his neck.

The same room as the fight took place in is now sober and orderly. Ranks of armored soldiers stand at attention behind their officers, as banners bearing the icons of flames, open books, or simply verses of holy script flutter overhead. Atop the stage where the combat ring previously was, five soldiers stand on either side of a door, guns held by their sides and a single scrap of parchment stuck to each of their pauldrons, forming a path through their ranks. At the end, their sergeant faces the door, a small roll of parchment held in one hand, and a hot ladle of wax in the other. At a word, the doors open, and another soldier walks through, his patched, polished armor gleaming. His scarred face twitches into what might be a smile as he approaches the sergeant, then drops to one knee. With an air of ceremony, the sergeant unfurls the parchment, holding it to the soldier's chest, then pours a gobbet of wax at the top. Finally, he punches the still-hot wax with the knuckle of his left hand. As the wax cools into the shape of an eight-pointed star, roars of approval echo through the chamber, breaking the silence that had prevailed throughout the ceremony.

* * *

A vast starship plows through the void, its battle-scarred hull illuminated by the light of a tiny, dying star. The golden statue atop its prow depicts an armored figure, censer held in one hand and an open book in the other. The figurehead stares out towards the ship's destination, a ruddy brown moon, half of it cast in shadow as its new visitors approach.

Four armored soldiers struggle through the sand, the faint sun shining through the howling dust-laden wind glinting off the icon of an open book on each of their pauldrons. One clutches a sword in one hand, and a massive pistol with a glowing barrel in the other. Vents on the side of the gun open, venting jets of hazy heat out. The other soldiers forge ahead, bulky guns clutched in their hands and long toothed swords sheathed on their backs. One of the soldiers has long talons that struggle to fit in the trigger guard of his gun, and he shakes his head as they press onward into the storm.

The first warning the band has is a flash of silver through the air, and a series of grooves that suddenly appear in the sergeant's chest. He fires back, his pistol belching a furious blue beam back into the haze. More fire returns, and flickers of movement dart through the impenetrable dust. A bright lance of energy stabs out, and one of the soldiers falls, his smoking gun dropping to the ground. The others continue to fire back, but now are moving in the direction from which they came. The sergeant reaches up to the side of his helmet, adjusting a small aerial so it points upward. The others swung their guns around towards the shooter who killed one of their own, raking the sand with spreads of shells. Two bodies tumble, the first glimpse yet of the attackers. Their slender figures are sheathed in tight-fitting blue bodygloves, with elaborate, sweeping white helmets. One clutches a sleek, short-barreled carbine, the other had dropped a long, tube-like weapon with a canister mounted atop it. The clawed soldier fires off a burst towards this weapon, blasting it into mangled pieces. At a signal from the sergeant, the soldiers drop to a crouch, staring expectantly at the sheets of sand whistling through the air. Moments later, three more of the slender attackers dance forward, pistols in one hand and sleek chainswords in the other. The remaining three soldiers open fire, shredding two of the attackers apart with well-aimed bursts. The last one skips to one side, then lunges for the sergeant with his chainsword. The sergeant swings his own sword forward, smashing the attacker's blade to one side, then shoots it point-blank with his pistol. The final attacker slumps down in two smoking halves, but it has served its purpose. As the soldiers finally look up from its remains, a massive shadow looms through the concealing sandstorm. Guns bark, and explosions erupt on the bulk that is now powering its way towards them. The clawed soldier swings its helmet slightly towards the sergeant, who nods. With a gesture from him, all except the clawed soldier turn and flee back, towards a pair of descending engine flares.

The clawed soldier clips his gun to his hip, and walks unhurriedly forward. As he does, a towering figure emerges from the mists, reminiscent of an enormous, gangly version of the earlier attackers. Two tall fins jut up from its shoulders, and it grasps a massive sword in its spindly fingers. The soldier twists off his helmet and clips it to his waist, revealing a scarred face, set with grim determination. He laughs, smiling unimaginably wide, and holds up his clawed hands, raising them towards the approaching figure. A glow begins to build around the soldier, first from his head, then extending over his whole body. A humming noise cuts through the howling wind, growing in intensity as the glow builds. The glow becomes a blaze of light, and the hum a shriek, then a blast of multicolored fire roars across the desert, turning the sand into glass and throwing back the concealing storm. Hundreds of the graceful attackers are briefly visible, then vanish in the tide of fire. Above, the passengers of a gunship blazing up into orbit shield their eyes from the glare as the inside of the hold is briefly illuminated as if under a midday sun.

The soldier collapses onto the ground below him, an island of sand in a sea of glass. The sandstorm is already starting again, and tendrils of dust hide the sky from view. The soldier's claws wilt, their jagged edges forming into the fingers of his gauntlet. The unnatural glow fades from around his body, and his breathing slows as his eyes glaze over. Far above, the engines of the Strike Cruiser he arrived on grumble into life, as it swings away from the moon and towards the outer reaches of the system.


	2. Chapter 1: The Wrong Side Of Bed

I wake up on the ground, feeling a chilling wind on my face, and someone nudging my leg. I groan. The last thing I remember is reccing the hiding place that damn underhive scum trader told us about. We must have camped down there for the night. I mentally ready myself for a dressing down for falling asleep on watch.

"Colonel?"

A shrill squeal sounds from somewhere downward and to my right, possibly the last sound I could imagine coming from the hard-as-nails bastard known as Colonel Schaeffer. My eyes snap open, and I groggily lift my head. The first thing I notice is that I'm in the middle of a desert, and certainly not in Acheron Hive. The second is that two terrified-looking men in ragged flak armor are staring down at me, one of them pointing the barrel of a crude autogun at my face. I briefly wonder what the frag's happened, then figure I'd better get out of the squeeze I'm currently in.

"Trooper! What's your name?" I address the marginally less frightened looking man holding the autogun. He flinches slightly at my commanding tone. A soldier, then.

"Hale, sir!" he replies, snapping to attention and lowering the gun.

"And your friend there?"

"He goes by Ears. Don' ask me why, sir."

"Well, Hale, the first thing I'd like to know is where the hell we are. This sure don't look like Acheron to me," I growl at him accusingly. Ears cocks his head curiously.

"Acheron? Never heard of it, sir. All I know is that we're down here on this Warp-forsaken piece of shit out in the Expanse looking for-" Hale guiltily cuts himself off in mid-sentence, his mouth working for a moment.

"I mean, we, uh, are engaging in a legitimate search for some lost property of the Cap'n's. Pardon my language, sir" he finishes.

I mentally roll my eyes. Not the most convincing story, but then again I don't give a rat's arse what Hale, Ears and whatever delightful company they might choose to keep are involved in, so long as I end up somewhere other than dying in the middle of a desert. Preferably somewhere nice and warm, with a nice mug of recaf and a steaming bowl of stewed grox. While I'm on that train of thought...

"Either of you got any grub?"

Ears fishes around in one of the pockets of his stained gear harness, then pulls out a shiny foil-wrapped ration pack. It looks somewhat larger than I'm used to, but then again I'm a penal legionnaire, and we don't exactly get the pick of the crop. He extends it out to me nervously, staying well out of my reach. I reach out for it, then notice my hand. Or rather, the gauntlet it's encased in.

"Holy Throne! By the Emperor's bastard whoreson!" I stare at the red plate armor, covered in ornate gold tracery and trimmed in brass. Then I hesitantly sit up, hearing a slight whir of servos as I do so. I look down at myself in shock, the ragged remnants of my Penal Legion uniform somehow transformed into a massive suit of... power armor? What the frag's happened, I think again.

Hale and Ears are looking at me askance. Ears tosses the foil-wrapped ration pack at me, and I somehow manage to catch it deftly in my armored gauntlet. I fumble slightly, but manage to get it open, realizing how damn hungry I am as the odor of over-processed grain and dried spices wafts from the package. I shove the whole thing into my mouth, chewing it up and swallowing it practically whole.

"Alright, so where did you lot spring from in the first place?" I inquire.

"We're from the _Hand of Iniquity_, sir! We got sent down with another four squads to this sector," replies Ears, his voice a good few notches higher than Hale's. I briefly wonder where the "Hand of Iniquity" might reach, suppressing a snigger.

"So, the _Hand of Iniquity_, eh? Some kind of ship then?"

"A sturdier little vessel than you've ever seen sir! She's been through the Passage four times, and only lost a few hundred crew on the last run!" proclaims Ears proudly, with a slight twinkle to his eye letting me know he's being a facetious little bastard.

"What he meant to say is that she's a commerce raider, sir," retorts Hale. "She's a far better vessel than some, though, don't let that get you any wrong thoughts."

I mentally groan. So I'm in the middle of the desert with two pirates, and there's four more squads of them lurking somewhere in the vicinity, plus their ship overhead. And I've somehow become a bloody Space Marine! This situation just keeps getting better and better.

Actually, now that I think about it, it looks like I've seen the last of the Colonel and his damned regiment for a while, at least. Not to mention I'm most likely not on Armageddon, which is definitely a plus. And nobody knows that I'm really Lieutenant Kage, who could easily be shot for desertion. That comfortable thought is dispelled a moment later.

"Uh, sir?" Hale points at my chest. "May I address you as Brother Kage?" I look down at my chest, and see a large nameplate with the title securely riveted onto it. Frag.

"Actually, I prefer _Lieutenant_ Kage, trooper."

"What about Sir Kage, sir?" asks Ears innocently.

"Whatever makes you happy," I say shortly. I think I've got a fairly decent idea of my situation now, so it's time to think about getting out of here.

"Don't you fellows have something to do here other than gawk at me? Or am I a part of your Captain's 'lost property'?"

Hale glances uncertainly at Ears, then steps forward to offer me a hand up.

"Well, we weren't looking for you specifically, but you'd best come with us. There's not much else for you to do, is there?" he asks. I stand up without his aid, then realize just how damn tall I am. I stare down at the two troopers, at least a full head above either of them. I reach down to my belt, and look at the huge gun attached there. A fragging bolter, that makes the one I used at Coritanorum look like a toy! I suddenly grin, an idea popping into my head.

"Why don't I help you out with whatever you are looking for?" I invite. Ears looks receptive to the idea, looking at Hale for approval before nodding. I follow them out onto a plain of glass that seems to stretch out almost to the horizon, blinking my eyes against the blowing sand. I feel something rattling against my hip, and look down to see a helmet chained to my waist. I unclip it, then lift it over my head and just about fall over. Everything's displayed in a field of blue, Hale and Eyes silhouetted in red. Waves of red seem to flow in on either side of my vision, and I turn my head. Two wolf-like heads jut out from either side of my back, what looks like crimson fog billowing from their mouths. I realize that the helmet must be able to somehow see heat, and hurriedly pull it off. Oblivious to my experimenting, the others are still doggedly walking into the wind, rags pulled over their mouths and shielding their eyes with their hands.

In several quick strides I've caught up with them, struggling to remove my bolter, which seems to be glued onto me. Feeling around it, I make out a small catch on the side of my belt, and when I press it the bolter drops to the ground. I scoop it up and continue on, scanning from side to side, not that I can see much more than a few meters in any direction. I can't help but notice that neither of the little vagabonds in front of me is looking anywhere other than their patched boots, so I give Ears a tap on the head. He looks back at me, shielding his eyes from the sand with one hand.

"Keep your eyes open! That could have been a damn Ork, trooper!" I snap at him. He shrugs.

"We haven't seen hide nor hair of any soul on this moon, sir!" he replies. "I doubt there's so much as a gnat down here!"

Hale keeps going for several meters, then stops, holding up a hand to the side of his head. I make out muffled cursing, as he shifts what looks to be a micro-bead this way and that, before turning back to us.

"That's the thirty minute marker, Ears! Lieutenant, we've only got a half hour left before heading back to the LZ, so it's time to start hunting!" Ears drops his pack and fumbles out what looks to be a battered auspex, extending the dish to its full capacity and plugging it into a Guard-issue power cell in another pocket of his pack. He swings it around several times, squinting at the display and adjusting a few knobs, before giving us a thumbs-down sign. We continue moving on, and several minutes later we're now on the edge of the sea of glass. Ears pauses again to reassemble his auspex, scanning the desert around us again. Suddenly he pauses, adjusting the dish a few times. With a triumphant whoop, he points off to our right, then holds up four fingers.

"He's got something around forty or fifty meters from here!" shouts Hale. We move off in the direction Ears pointed. Not bothering to re-zip his pack, which hangs open from his back, the power cord dangling from it to the auspex in his hands, Ears scrutinizes the tiny screen, occasionally directing us back on course. Finally, he holds up his fist, and we all look around. I spot what he's found first, a pale shape barely visible in the sand. I walk over, and pull it out. It looks like some kind of weapon, twisted and burnt as if in an explosion. I think about the sea of glass, remembering the aftermath of the orbital bombardment of Coritanorum. Hale trots over, examining the remains. He shakes his head.

"Put it here!" he gestures towards a spot on the ground, then unstraps a shovel from the side of his pack. I reluctantly drop it where he indicates, and Ears fishes out a dubious-looking device from his harness. It looks like a cheap civilian radio with loops of wire taped around a rod attached to it. He carefully sets it up next to the mangled weapon, and then gives us a thumbs up, before picking his auspex back up again.

* * *

A quarter hour later, we've amassed a small pile of weapons and fragments of graceful armor. Hale is messing around with his micro-bead, but manages to get out a message. I pick up something about "more time" and "some real goodies." I tap him on the shoulder.

"What news?"

He grins back at me. "Cap'n Schneider's sending the other squads over. We're the only ones who've picked up anything of interest- everyone else is still screwing around out in the dunes. I told him we found a little surprise, too."

I snort. "You're lucky I was in a good mood, aren't you? I bet I could have taken on the whole lot of you goons without so much as a scratch to show for it."

Hale looks surprisingly unruffled. "Maybe, but I doubt you could take on the _Hand_'s macro-cannons."

He has a good point. I examine the pile of loot we've dug up so far. The graceful, blue-and-white armor and flowing lines of the weapons, apparent even in their damaged condition, remind me of something, but what? I suddenly remember the depressurizing starship bay, Last Chancers and alien attackers hurled out by emergency containment systems.

"Hale?"

He takes a swig of water from his canteen.

"Yes sir?"

"This is Eldar stuff," I inform him. He just shrugs.

"It's ours now. Dead xenos don't come looking for it back, and dumb rich folks'll pay a lot for a fancy suit of armor to prop up next to their bunks, or a fancy looking gun to hang over the heater," he says with a snort of contempt.

I ponder this statement for a few seconds.

"How much coin do you get for this stuff, anyway?"

He shrugs. "Enough to run a frigate, and to keep a few thousand wasters like us in rations and ammo. Plus a nice cut for the Kasballica, o' course."

My decision is made. As at least twenty more ragged pirates struggle out of the storm, cursing their heads off, then yelp as they notice me, I give them a smile.

"You want any help?"

One of them, wearing a heavy suit of what looks like carapace armor and with a gold chain around his neck, steps forward. It's obvious he's their leader. He hands me a shovel.

"Since you were so kind as to ask, big fellow, you can start digging."

I start in, wondering what the future holds for Lieutenant Kage. No, _ex_-Lieutenant Kage, I think to myself, looking around. When it comes down to it, I'm really just another one of these vagabonds now, except with a fancy suit of armor. I'm not sure if I like the idea, but it looks like it's what I'm stuck with. As they say on Olympas, I'd better play the hand I was given, or I'll end up with the sump rats.


	3. Chapter 2: A Warm Welcome

We have worked our way across perhaps half a kilometer's worth of ground as the sun began its journey down to the horizon, hunting down auspex contacts and unearthing the remnants of hundreds of dead Eldar warriors, plus their weapons and gear. More than a hundred more pirates have arrived, and I can't help but notice that they don't have a single transport vehicle. Despite doing the lion's share of digging, I haven't even worked up a sweat, while most of the pirates are gulping water from canteens. I glance at the carapace armored commander, who shouts at his men to keep up the work, waving a shock maul at any perceived slackers. His approach to motivation seems to work though, as auspex contacts have become less and less frequent as we continue to dig up the remains.

"All clear!" shouts Ears several minutes later. The men around me sigh with relief, mopping the sweat from their brows. I laugh at them.

"I could have done as much work in an hour as you've done in a day when I was just a scavvy!" I mock. The man nearest me, a wiry bugger with a nasty looking knife strapped to his belt, growls back.

"Easy for you to say, Space Marine. How often have you had to do a decent day's work? Huh?"

I blink, then remember my situation. I mentally kick myself, realizing what a bastard I probably sounded like. Not the best way to endear myself to my only hope at getting out of here. I just grunt back to the man, unable to think of a suitably inoffensive response. He gives me a dirty glare, which I ignore.

A sharp whistle breaks off the chatter. The commander, perhaps a lieutenant, beckons us over.

"All right, you lot have done pretty decently for the scum you are. When we get back up to orbit, I'll see if I can get Gabb to rustle up something special."

This pronouncement seems to cheer up the men. I'm guessing Gabb is the cook for this little band of miscreants. Come to think of, even after the ration pack Ears gave me I'm still hungry. The commander pulls out a small metal canister, then pulls a string from it and throws it a short distance off into the desert. The flare begins to belch out green smoke, which somehow seems to resist the howling winds and drifts almost straight up.

"Fellas, our ride's incoming any minute now. Look sharp! And, ah, Lieutenant Kage? I'd like to have a word with you. Privately, if possible."

I give him a thumbs up, and follow him a short distance away from the rest of the men. He stares at me, seemingly unimpressed by my stature and armor.

"Look here, I haven't got a clue where you came from, or what you're doing here, but if you like we'll take you on board. That sound okay?"

"Sure," I grunt.

"Excellent, the captain sure sounded interested in you. Not to sound presumptuous... but if you can remember to mention good ol' Lieutenant Litzberg's exceedingly welcoming conduct, I would be very grateful."

"No worries, I'll make sure to pass on my appreciation to him," I chuckle.

"One back scratches the other, eh?" Litzberg grins and slaps one of my pauldrons, which is about as far up as he can reach, before starting back towards where the rest of the men are idly chatting and lighting up lho-sticks. I'm impressed with the speed with which he's managed to go from treating me as an unwelcome distraction, to suddenly being my best pal. He seems to me like the sort to have some kind of shady mess hall deals going on, and I vow to keep my eyes on him.

* * *

A short while later, a bright engine flare cuts through the haze, and I begin to make out the shape of a bulky Arvus landing craft slowly descending. The jet thrusters roar down, slowing its descent until it bumps to the ground. The men mill around for a moment, then start towards the still-moving rear ramp. I eye the little Arvus doubtfully. I've been in a few, and in my experience they tend to hold only perhaps twelve passengers before things start getting tight. Litzberg has obviously had many runs with the craft, and he bellows at the wave of soldiers.

"Hold it, lads! This isn't the way we do things in Kappa Company! Einmar, take your squad in first! The rest of you, line up by squads! Sergeants, take count!"

A burly man with a battered-looking chainaxe strapped to his back, most likely Einmar, continues forward. Sixteen or so troops follow him, piling into the back of the transport. The last few end up standing, clutching onto any handholds they can find. Slowly, the ramp hisses shut, as someone hurriedly withdraws an arm from the opening. The thrusters fire up again, and the lander begins to accelerate upwards, all eyes following it until it disappears into the mists.

By now all the remaining troopers have lined up into eight or so squads, ranging in size from four soldiers up to perhaps twenty. I notice Hale and Ears looking at me from one of the shorter lines, but don't have time to talk to them as I notice the lieutenant walking over.

"We're heading out on the next run, with one of the raggies," he says, then sees my quizzical expression.

"That's what I call the little squads, who've lost a lot of men," he clarifies. "They don't take up too much space, so we can probably all squeeze in."

"Whose squad is that?" I point to the line with Hale and Ears in it. The lieutenant cranes his neck to see.

"Ah, that'll be Tassmen's. He's a new promotion, Sergeant Mullin was killed on Fyron's Deep. One of the specters there took him. I'll tell you later, it's long story."

"Sergeant Tassmen!" he shouts. Tassmen, a tired-looking man with long hair under a bandanna, gestures to his squad and they jog over to where Litzberg and I are standing. I notice that the sergeant has only a light sleeveless tank top under his vest, and no flak armor, despite the biting wind.

"You're with us on the next flight out, Tassmen," says the Lieutenant. "We've got maybe ten minutes till Old Mule gets down, and I'd like you to meet Kage here."

"Uh, Kage?" says the sergeant, gulping slightly as he stares up at me. "Pleasure to meet you." He proffers a hand for me to shake, which I take, trying to go gentle on it. He still grimaces with pain as my gauntlet closes over his hand, and after he withdraws it I notice he experimentally opens and closes his bruised fingers. I turn back to Litzberg.

"Old Mule?"

"Yeah, that's the next Arvus coming in," he explains. "She's had more hours on her than any of the other landers combined, and at least that much patching up, but she's around the most reliable we've got. Hasn't had a major problem once in, what, almost a year now?" Tassmen scratches his head.

"What about that engine burnout we got over the Screaming Pit, let me think, two months ago?" he questions. A few of the troopers behind him look at each other uncertainly. Litzberg just laughs.

"That was nothing, Tassmen. We were almost into orbit, and it was a nice easy run anyway. Although now that you mention it, I remember there were a few atomics going off just below us. And that crazy arc generator too. Boy, was I ever glad to see the back of that place." Litzberg shudders, puffing warmth into his fingers and hunching his shoulders against the wind.

Tassmen mutters something under his breath, then looks up. I'd already heard the approaching shuttle several seconds before, and couldn't help but notice that the pilot fires his retros considerably closer to the ground than the previous one had. The shuttle abruptly slows to a halt, then drops several meters to the ground with a thud. I wince, taking a moment to say a prayer for the lander's machine spirit. For what it was worth, given its current operators.

"All right Kage, you're in first! Make yourself comfortable, there's plenty of space for the rest of us!" shouts Litzberg. Tassmen opens his mouth, then shuts it again. I walk up the ramp, bending over slightly to get into the back hatch, then promptly hit my head on a protruding section of pipe. Cursing, I struggle to the front of the cargo bay, where a single seat faces back, which I'm guessing is usually occupied by the sergeant of whatever unfortunates might happen to be in here. I wedge myself in as the Lieutenant strides in, settling himself in on the bench to my left. Sergeant Tassmen sinks into the bench on the other side of me, and the rest of the troops pile in, quickly clipping on restraints. Hale, Ears, and a slightly feral looking trooper clutching a crude stub rifle end up squeezed against the back, Hale just managing to yank the strap of his pack in before it gets caught in the closing ramp.

The whole heap lifts off a second later, rattling us around like sardines in a can. The feral trooper loses his grip on his rifle, the bayonet welded onto it just missing the eye of one of the other soldiers, who grabs the gun and shoves it under his seat. The feral trooper jumps up, and I can tell a fight is about to start, but then we hit a spot of turbulence and he falls back. He ends up knocking his noggin against the bulkhead, and curls up looking dazed.

The pilot chooses this moment to start playing a rowdy tune over the intercom, full of twanging guitars and someone rambling about his difficulties with a woman's nether reaches. The troops howl with laughter, and everyone seems to be having a grand time. Unfortunately, the rest of the soldiers have blocked my view out the portholes, so I have nothing to distract me from the rising tide of shuttle sickness that seems to be heading up my throat at record speed. Tassmen realizes what's coming, and he shoves himself as far back against the trooper next to him as he can get, an expression of horror on his face.

Just in time for both of us, the shuttle breaks atmosphere and the ride smooths down again. The pilot turns off the music, and his voice comes over the intercom.

"We're around five minutes out from the _Hand of Iniquity_, boys! Enjoy the view!" I hear the pilot conversing with the controller on duty, and I lean over to try and get a glimpse of the ship we're about to be landing on. Even though I guess everyone else has already seen the same sight all too many times, they all have the same idea, and the troopers in front of the portholes are shoved aside. As I gaze out at the rapidly approaching prow, I realize that a starship never fails to impress. Each one is a truly massive testament to humanity's will, taking us across tremendous distances, even dimensions, and requiring unimaginable amounts of material and resources to construct.

It's hard to tell the size of this particular specimen, although I'd guess its smaller than the Guard conveyor I was ferried around in during my first stint with the Last Chancers. It looks like a long rectangular beam, huge engines set in the rear with a tiny command bridge overhead. Litzberg stares, seemingly in awe of the ship.

"Well, that's the _Hand of Iniquity_. She's a Falchion-class frigate, and my home for... ten years now, I guess. But look, we're coming in to the hangar now!"

As we approach one of the hangar bays spaced along the forward section of the hull, I notice that some have had armor plates welded over them, and battle scars cover sections of the hull. Defense turrets swivel to track us as we get closer, until with a roar the pilot fires the retros as we enter the bay itself. A gaggle of ground crew rushes over as the shuttle settles down, and I realize that even as the ramp lower they're probably tightening on fuel lines and running checks on the hydraulics of the landing gear.

Tassmen shouts at his men, and they pile out of the lander, heading over towards the other side of the hangar where Einmar and his squad are already lined up. Litzberg grabs the sergeant's shoulder before he can leave the lander.

"Tassmen, you're in charge until I get back. Make sure everyone gets to our barracks- tell them if I catch them sneaking over to Epsilon or Rho, I'll give them enough lashes to keep their manhood in check for at least a month!"

"You see, Epsilon and Rho are mixed-gender companies," he chuckles to me as Tassmen jogs over to his squad. I smile.

"I can certainly imagine the situation, Lieutenant," I reply. "Where are we headed to now?" Litzberg suddenly looks slightly nervous.

"Well, I think it's about time the Captain had a chance to meet you. He seemed pretty darn excited about the prospect, actually. So follow along." He hesitates, then starts off towards one of doors around the sides of the hangar as I trudge behind. Although I'm curious to meet the Captain, it still feels wrong to be running with these, well, pirates. I feel as if the Colonel's still watching over my shoulder, glaring at me as I walk after Litzberg down a stark corridor, condensation dripping from the pipes running just over my head. Well, it's too late to back out now, I think as I continue on into the darkness.


	4. Chapter 3: Chain of Command

**A/N: There's quite a bit of exposition of the setting in this chapter, which can get a little confusing- however, all the areas described are drawn from the FFG supplementary materials, the maps of which are easily found on Lexicanum or Google Images.**

**BIBOTOT: Thanks for the advice, this time around I tried to separate paragraphs whenever a new idea was introduced; I think it's led to a lot smoother transitions and less blocks of text.**

I have been following Litzberg for almost half an hour now, through dank, dripping hallways lit by flickering, widely spaced lumen globes and up endless flights of rusting metal stairs. For the first time, I start to feel a little nervous. Litzberg's drawn his shock maul in one hand I can see he has the other on the butt of a bolt pistol stuck into his belt. Frag, for all I know this whole thing could be an elaborate ruse to kill me and strip off my armor, which I don't doubt would net these traders a small fortune. I reach over my shoulder, unsheathing my chainsword from its scabbard. Litzberg looks back.

"Don't mind me, sir. There've been some reports about disappearing crewmen in this quadrant lately, and I'm just being careful. Wouldn't want anyone to get hurt, you understand," he explains apologetically. I grin mirthlessly back at him.

"Well, I'm sure the sight of one of the Emperor's Own would be enough to scare any deserters back to their stations, Lieutenant. Don't you agree?"

Litzberg frowns.

"It's not deserters I'm worried about." I look at him quizzically.

"While I'm sure such incidents are practically unheard of on the noble ships of the Space Marines, there have been occasions when... things have gotten into the spaces between decks on this ship, taking crew members Warp knows where. It's just another risk of void travel, but it's my belief that these incidents have been getting more and more frequent as we push farther out into the Expanse," he adds.

"I understand, Lieutenant. Wise of you to be prepared," I reassure him, trying to project an unfazed attitude. Inside I'm squirming like a rat in a hive raptor's talons. I just hope his precautions are unnecessary.

We continue on for a while in this same way, the passages strangely empty. I catch glimpses of a few ragged-looking crew scurrying through side corridors and sometimes hear the clang of boots on gantries overhead or below, but overall it's eerily quiet, except for the distant rumble of the frigate's engines. This starts to change soon after, and I hear the distant sound of clamor and activity. Litzberg seems to relax as we draw close to the noise, hooking his shock maul back on his belt and quickening his pace.

We turn another corner, and start to ascend yet another flight of stairs. This set has little rust on it, and looks more sturdily built than the others we've been through. As we climb upwards, I realize that this is probably the highest single flight we've gone up so far. The sound of activity grows louder as we ascend, until finally we reach a sealed hatch. Litzberg pulls out a key card, like the ones I've seen Adepts use to access secured files, and swipes it through a reader in the center of the hatch. With a hiss, it opens, and we pass through. I barely manage to make it under the top of the doorway, having to bend nearly double.

We step out into a bright, well-lit gantry hanging over a huge corridor, at least ten meters wide. I look over the guardrail, and see several groups of crew hands walking past, tool belts slung around their waists and booted feet squeaking on the polished, rubbish-free floor.

"Why's this hallway kept so nice?" I ask Litzberg.

"This is one of the main arteries down the center of the hull. There's three total, two on the upper decks and one on the lower, through the cargo holds. The upper ones allow hundreds or even thousands of crew to be routed between different sections of the ship, which is vital during combat. The lower one is handy for moving around cargo, since heavy equipment can easily maneuver in it."

The Lieutenant lowers his voice slightly. "Also, during a boarding action, blast doors can close across them at several points, delaying enemy forces. These gantries offer us positions we can return fire from, hopefully cutting down any attackers before they can get too far into the ship."

I gulp nervously, looking around at the network of piping that covers the ceiling.

"Don't you worry about hitting anything important during this crazy firefight?" I wonder, gesturing upwards.

Litzberg shakes his head. "That's thanks to one of the modifications the Captain's had done. Everything really important to the ship's combat performance, from coolant to power trunking, is run through armored ducts. The pipes you see up here are just part of the fire suppression system, as well as I believe a few minor sub-systems."

I nod. Although I'm no expert on naval combat, the idea seems like a good one to me.

"And speaking of the Captain, it's only around three hours until curfew for us mudfeet, and while I'm happy to escort you to the bridge, I wouldn't mind getting back to Kappa's barracks in time for the evening meal," he continues. I laugh.

"Don't worry Lieutenant, if you just get me to the Captain in one piece, I won't hold you any longer. I heard you mentioning something about a special meal tonight?"

Litzberg grins. "A loaf of fresh bread for everyone, with genuine smoked bilge eels. Our cook Gabb's got himself a smoker rigged up out of some old promethium drums, and we've finally collected enough wood to fire it up. The technomats are going crazy, spouting some bull about overworking the air circulators." He winks at me conspiratorially as we continue on down the gantry, pausing for a second to spit over the side.

* * *

Some while later, the vague shadow at the end of the corridor resolves into a massive bulkhead, the icon of a winged sword painted onto a huge set of blast doors at floor level. Several autocannon and heavy bolter emplacements are set into the bulkhead at intervals, their mirrored viewports disclosing no suggestion of the occupants within. The gantry we are on terminates at the bulkhead, a smaller set of blast doors leading onward. Litzberg slides his card through a reader again, and the doors slide open onto a massive landing, made of a single solid steel plate with the same winged sword symbol inlaid into it. I point to it.

"What's that mean?"

"It's the symbol Captain Schneider chose for his House," the Lieutenant explains. I glance it him, confused. He seems pleased that I've noticed it, but I've got no idea what "house" might be being referring to.

"I'm sure the Captain'll explain the whole story to you," he assures me. "Suffice it to say that he managed to acquire a Warrant of Trade, so now he and his descendents are licensed Rogue Traders."

"Impressive," I growl. "That's no mean feat."

We press onward, up flights of expansive stairs laid down in either lush carpet that sinks around my armored feet like a crimson jungle, or tastefully inlaid rare woods that gleam with polish. The whole area reeks of opulence, an impression that is not dissuaded by the numerous, and undoubtedly proscribed curiosities displayed in small, dimly lit alcoves along the corridors.

I pause for a moment to gawk at a set of shrunken heads tattooed with blasphemous symbols, before hurrying after Litzberg. I'm noticing that he has to scan his keycard at doors more and more frequently, as we venture upwards.

"This is the officers' quarters," he says, answering my unspoken question. "If we had gone downwards after leaving the Artery, we would have ended up in the engine rooms. The captain keeps his quarters at the very top, right next to the bridge." He stops for a moment to catch his breath, then starts back up again.

* * *

Litzberg points to a massive iron door set into the wall, at the end of a short corridor. I'd guess this is the entrance to the bridge, judging by the two armed guards flanking the door. Both attempt to stay as still as statues, but the one on the right flinches slightly at the sight of me coming up the stairs. I reach out my hand to my guide.

"Thank you for guiding me here, Lieutenant. Take care, and good look to you and Kappa Company" I say, as he takes my hand without flinching. I'm impressed, as I'd forgotten to tone down the strength of my grip after the incident with Tassmen. He hesitates for a second, then opens his mouth. I can already guess what he's about to say.

"Don't worry, I haven't forgotten."

Litzberg grins back at me, gives a thumbs up, and darts back down the stairs. I can hear his booted feet pounding through the halls below, on his way back to the barracks.

* * *

I walk up to the door. I briefly feel a surge of terror well up inside me as I raise my hand to the unpleasant-looking cast gargoyle chime. That's something that Lieutenant Kage, Penal Legionnaire, would have felt, I think. Brother Kage, Space Marine most holy, most certainly would not hesitate to knock on the door of the Emperor himself, I convince myself. I give the gargoyle a good tug, resisting the impulse to rip the string it's attached to out of its housing.

A few seconds later, the doors slide open with a rattle of gears. I step through two more soldiers flanking the door on the other side, staring around me. The bridge is surprisingly quiet, officers overseeing crew men and women monitoring various displays. I look around wondering where the captain is, expecting to see some rakish Navy type with excessive quantities of gold braid stuck to his uniform.

"Mister Kage?"

I turn, and see a man in a worn-looking cargo master's uniform, holding a mug of recaf.

"Yes sir?" I reply, examining him. He has neatly combed brown hair, with the grey streaks of middle age starting to appear in it. He takes a sip of recaf before speaking.

"I'm Captain Schneider. Welcome aboard the _Hand of Iniquity_, Kage. Is she to your liking?"

"Yes sir, she seems a fine little ship. I was curious, are we still in orbit over, ah, the planet?" I ask. The captain suddenly beams.

"Yes, we certainly are! In fact, as I speak the last of our cargo is being brought aboard," he answers happily. "Xeno-archaeologist Michaels has already appraised it at a conservative estimate of five hundred million thrones, possibly up to a billion. The suits are going to be the real prize, while the weapons are a nice bonus most are too damaged to be usable."

A shiver runs down my spine, at the thought of some fool noble dishing out millions for a suit of xenos-tainted armor. I try to direct my mind elsewhere. I've made my decision, and now I'll have to live with it. The captain, perhaps noticing my discomfort, changes the subject.

"I trust Lieutenant Litzberg gave you a warm welcome?"

I remember my promise. "While he took adequate precautions, he also was very welcoming, sir. You have a good officer in him."

The captain raises his eyebrows. "Strong praise, coming from the ranks of the Astartes."

Astartes? I wonder what he's talking about for a moment, then realize he means the Space Marines. And therefore, me.

"Yes sir. While I cannot speak for his tactical expertise, he is a capable leader, and seems to inspire confidence in his troops." This is the best compliment I can think of. Praise isn't something I've had too much practice with while training Penal Legion conscripts.

Scheider looks pleased at this. "I'm glad to hear you speak so highly of one my crew, Brother Kage."

I'm about to correct him on the Brother bit, but then decide not to. There's no point in carrying on the baggage of an old life.

The captain's face suddenly hardens. "Brother, while I am happy to convey you to any destination on or near our traveled route, I would very much appreciate it if you would let me in on a little of your purpose here. Litzberg told me he found you at the epicenter of a blast crater of atomic scale, and there is no living presence, human or otherwise, on the moon we just visited. It's reasonably apparent that you arrived from somewhere, and for some purpose."

I shrug. "I've got about as much idea as you do, sir."

He sighs. "Basically, what I'm asking is this; what do you want from me?"

I can think of a lot of things, but try to organize my priorities. First, of course, is figuring out where I am, relative to Armageddon.

"If you wouldn't mind Captain, I would very much appreciate it if you could give me a briefing on the local region we are in," I reply.

"That can be easily arranged," he says, leading me up a flight of stairs to the top of the command section of the bridge. I take the opportunity to quickly look around. The bridge, while one long, rectangular room perhaps sixty by thirty meters, is composed of three ascending levels. At the bottom, which we are currently standing in the middle of, hundreds of crewmen monitor sensors and displays, constantly relaying developments to their supervisors, who stride along the second level.

As we climb up the stairway, I can see the third level is the heart of the whole operation. Various important-looking officers confer with one another, gesturing towards data-slates or paper documents. They look briefly surprised by my presence, before going back to their work. I'm guessing they've become somewhat used to fraternizing with the high and mighty of the Imperium, given how frequently Rogue Traders draw the attention of its various branches.

The captain leads me over to a large, glass-topped table, punching a button on the side of it. I nervously eye the device. I've seen three-dimensional holoprojectors before, of course, while discussing strategy with the officers of other regiments, but the techno-wizardry behind such a device is thoroughly beyond my comprehension. The device crackles and hums, a haze of light projected over it steadily coalescing into an image of the galaxy subdivided into its Segmentums, instantly recognizable to anyone in the Imperium. A tiny dot flashes in the upper left side, close to the edge of Imperial space.

"That's the Calixis sector. We're just rimward, in the Koronus Expanse," explains the captain. I frown.

"Can you show me where Armageddon is?"

He hisses through his teeth, then taps a code into a small keyboard on the rim of the table. The dot shifts coreward, and while I'm not entirely surprised at its new location, the sheer scale involved makes me feel somewhat insignificant.

"So we're about a quarter of the way across the galaxy?" The captain nods.

"If that's where you want to be, Brother Kage... well, it would take at least a month for a naval vessel to make the transit. For this ship, it would take decades." I chuckle.

"Don't worry captain, I have absolutely no interest in returning to Armageddon. If you could tell me more about this Koronus Expanse we're in?" The captain looks relieved, and with a few keystrokes shifts the view back to Calixis, then focuses in to reveal the sector.

"Well, the Expanse is pretty much the frontier. It's spinward of Calixis," he says, panning past some kind of cloudy looking stuff on the map, and indicating the area beyond it. I point to the clouds.

"What are these?"

"They are great warp storms, isolating the Expanse from the Calixis Sector proper. They are the reason why it's such a frontier- only a tiny passage is navigable, and then only slowly and with difficulty." The captain zooms in on a small open section of the warp storms, which still look like clouds to me. A small box pops up, text scrolling across it. I grimace, wondering if I'll have to ask him to read the indecipherable letters out for me. Not for the first time, I wish I could read. Fortunately, the captain unwittingly spares me the embarrassment.

"This is the Koronus Passage, between the space stations of Port Wander in Calixis and Footfall in the Expanse."

He pans upward and to the left, near the vertical line of the warp storms.

"This is where we are currently," he says, pointing slightly to the right of another cloudy-looking object. "Just coreward of Winterscale's Realm, in a system labelled 4198 Mu 721 for the purposes of stellar navigation. There's absolutely nothing here- we're the first recorded visitors. The only reason we stopped is because our navigator picked up an unusual burst of warp energy emanating from the system, and I decided to investigate. Our main destination's here," the captain points upwards of the cloud, towards an area which rapidly resolves into collection of star systems.

"The Serpent's Cradle. Previously an enclave of Imperial stability, around five hundred years ago Ork warbands overran the area, and have held it in an iron grip since. You may be wondering what draws a profit-minded man like me there; to make it brief, an associate of mine uncovered information about a hidden reserve store of Imperial Guard equipment in the area. While there is no guarantee that the store hasn't been looted by the Orks, or for that matter even existed in the first place, such a find would give us both ready access to Guard-standard equipment for our ground force, and perhaps arms that may be sold profitably throughout Calixis and the Expanse."

I whistle. "So, how long do you think it'll be until we get there?"

He shrugs. "Anywhere between one to three weeks, depending on how our next warp jump goes. But that brings me back to my original question. What do you want me to do for you?"

I hesitate. "Well, how would you like to add a Space Marine to your crew? For the time being, anyway."

The captain stares at me. His eyes seem like they're about to pop out of his head, before he reasserts control of himself.

"Absolutely, Mister Kage! Just give me a second to fetch your Indentures, I'll be right back!" He all but sprints from the bridge, attracting stares from the officers. I take the moment to quickly sort out my thoughts. I'm still not sure how long I want to stay with this crew, but they certainly seem like a decent lot from what I've seen.

I poke around at the projection from the table, rotating the image and zooming in on anything that looks interesting. Not being able to read, I can't get a great deal of information from it though.

* * *

Several minutes later, the captain returns with a small, musclebound man in tow.

"Brother Kage, allow me to introduce you to Colonel Bonsefane, the commander of the _Hand_'s ground forces. If you have any questions, he's the one to talk to. But now, for your indentures." He hands me a sheet of paper with a whole load of official-looking writing on it, which I stare at blankly.

"Just sign your name here." He points to a blank line near the bottom. I scribble in the space, something I've seen others do when signing documents, and Schneider practically snatches them back.

"I'm thinking you should start out as a Lieutenant, commanding a company of our troops. Then-" Bonsefane cuts him off.

"Don't you think that's a rather senior rank? Perhaps something closer to the fray would appeal to our new battle-brother," he suggests, the look on his face practically begging the captain to reconsider. He turns to me.

"What do you think, Kage?"

I honestly like that idea much better, despite the sting to my pride from what is effectively a demotion. Unlike when I was training convicts for the Last Chancers, I have no experience with these soldiers, no knowledge I can leverage to drive them to train harder. If I end up in a command position, I'll need to acquire that experience somehow.

"Sure, that sounds great. How about starting from the bottom as a footslogger?" The colonel seems to relax, the inexplicable tension on his face vanishing.

"That sounds like an excellent plan... Trooper Kage. I'll assign you to Lieutenant Litzberg's Kappa Company, since you already seem to be familiar with them. He'll find a squad for you, I'm sure. I know Kappa's understrength right now, and I trust you'll provide a much-needed boost to their morale."

Schneider stands up, evidently interested in wrapping up the conversation.

"It's already getting into the night cycle, and I'm sure Kage would appreciate some rest. Make yourself at home in," he pulls a ring of keys from his pocket and flips through them, "Room 00527. It's one of the nicer staterooms, just down the stairs and along the hall to your right." I nod.

"Thank you for your hospitality, captain and colonel. I'm looking forward to taking up my new position." I shake hands with both, then head back down the stairs. One of the guards at the bridge doors steps forward and swipes his keycard, opening them for me. I give him a slight nod of thanks, and continue on, following the directions the captain gave me.

* * *

I arrive outside room 00527, which displays its designation in flowing, gold-engraved script on a massive hardwood door. I turn the key, and the door swings open effortlessly on well-oiled hinges. I stare for a second, my mouth agape. I don't think I've ever seen such finery in my life. The stateroom has plush carpeting that sinks up to my ankles, and the walls are painted with murals of great naval battles. I laugh, seeing a huge portrait of an armored Space Marine hacking away at a mob of Orks with his chainsword. The captain chose the room well. A huge four-poster bed with a velvet canopy sits in one corner, and a door leads off another.

I pad over and pop my head through the door. Although the lights are off, I can see inside the opulent bathroom perfectly clearly. Another gift of my new body, probably. This bathroom is larger than my entire quarters as a lieutenant were in my former life, I realize. In addition to a spotlessly clean shower, what looks like a curving bathtub with various nozzles placed around the inside sits at one end. I stare dubiously at it, before dragging my attention away. Next, I pull open the cabinet over the sink, inside of which are several differently scented soaps, and some kind of bizarre device that looks like a handle with a perforated metal attachment on the end. I look around for a razor, but surprisingly there isn't one, despite the presence of a container of fancy-looking aftershave. I figure I've had enough of the bathroom, and walk back out into the main suite.

Now that I have a chance to relax, I'm starting to realize just how tired I am. I sit down on a chair in the corner of the room. Big mistake. With a crack of splintering wood, the chair disintegrates under my and I end up sprawled on the floor, staring at the wreckage. Just fragging wonderful. I walk over and cautiously test the bed. It doesn't even creak when I put my full weight on it. The bed's sturdy construction isn't much of a surprise to me, given some of the favored activities of senior officers.

I figure it's time to clean up from the day and get a good night's sleep. With a yawn, I unclip my bolter and helmet from my waist, putting them on top of the nightstand, then unsling the scabbard of my chainsword from around my chest, leaning it against the side of the bed.

At that moment, I suddenly come to the realization that I have absolutely no idea how to get out of my armor. I scrabble around the ornate moldings on my waist, hips, legs, and every joint I can find for some kind of release mechanism, my level of panic beginning to rise. The only one I end up finding is a small catch between my shin plates. With a feeling of relief, I pry one off, then give a yell of shock. The damned armor is plugged into my leg! Several cords extend from it, plugging into small brass ports on my thigh. I reach down to unplug them, then hesitate. Frag. I have absolutely no idea what might happen. For all I know, I could die if I remove them.

I groan, reluctantly clipping the shin plates back together, and roll over onto the bed. Now that I think about it, the power armor is actually surprisingly comfortable. It feels more like a second skin than actual armor. I realize that it surpasses even the well-worn comfort of my old Guard flak suit of so many years.

I stack up several pillows to rest my head on, so it doesn't loll back with my armor holding me up, then pull the luxurious blankets over myself, more from habit than from any actual warmth they might provide. I'm asleep almost before my head hits the pillow.


	5. Chapter 4: Introductions

The fog of sleep slowly recedes from my head, but I am content to examine the inside of my eyelids. Warmly cocooned inside my armor, I don't feel any particular urgency to get up. The last day has had me constantly on my toes; waking up in the middle of the desert, Hale and Eyes, the Eldar corpses, Litzberg, and finally the _Hand of Iniquity_. Then, of course, Captain Schneider and Colonel Bonsefane. I fuzzily recall the galaxy map, Schneider, Litzberg, and Hale's talk of profit, and slowly begin to put the pieces together.

I'm on board a minor rogue trader's vessel, hunting for xenos artifacts to sell to the highest bidder. It's fairly clear Captain Schneider considers himself above Imperial Law, too. Hardly the most Emperor-serving of occupations, I think. But then again, it certainly sounds like the Captain has no love of the xenos themselves, wanting them dead perhaps almost as much as I do. I shudder, thinking back to the Tyranid-infested hell of Ichar IV. No, I would much rather have the weapons and treasures of the xenos in humanity's hands, rather than waiting to be used against us by forces unknown.

The thought of Ichar IV makes me feel uncomfortable, and I open my eyes, staring at the ceiling of my stateroom. A Space Marine with an ornate, leering helmet and a huge jetpack strapped to his back appears to be hurtling towards me from the burning hulk of a warship, bolt pistol aimed forward and chainsword ready to strike.

I stick out my tongue at him, then sit up. I feel tremendously refreshed, fully awake and ready for the day ahead of me. But I want to take some time to explore my gear first. I pick the helmet up from my nightstand. The last time I wore it, it seemed to detect heat. I slip it back over my head, and the room is bathed in blue, with a pinkish glow coming from several sections of the wall, probably registers.

I feel around the outside of the helmet, looking for some button or toggle to switch off the heat vision. There must be some way; it hardly seems likely that Space Marines would entirely ignore good old eyeballs during combat. I roll my eyes in exasperation, and suddenly some kind of menu pops up. A selection of options is displayed. Uncertainly, I scan them, and as my eyes pass over each one it is outlined in a halo of light. My skin crawls at the power of the technomancy that must be involved, and I blink to clear a drop of sweat from my eye.

The icon that is currently selected, a long word followed by a short one, flashes, and suddenly my vision swims. I can faintly make out a distorted outline of the edge of the bed when I look down, but everything else is a grey haze. I carefully stand up, and the bed squeaks, suddenly seeming to jump up at me. I yell with fright, scrambling away from it, and briefly the room is illuminated as if underwater. I stand stock still, trying not to make any noise, and frantically roll my eyes. To my relief, the menu reappears again.

I make a mental note of the option I currently have on; the first letter is an E, which I recognize since it's in my name, and the last one is two parallel lines with a diagonal between them. At one point, I could list off all the letters in the Gothic alphabet, but I've forgotten most of them by now.

I flick between several different options, finally choosing the one in the center of my vision. It looks smaller than the one I had just selected, and is just one word. I blink, and the room returns to normal. However, all the colors look slightly sharper, and even the soft edges of the blanket seem to be outlined in a razor edge. I stare at the door, seeing every single streak of the wood grain. It feels disconcerting, but at least I can see what's going on around me.

I sling my chainsword's scabbard back around my chest, shrugging it down so it hangs comfortably. Then I pick up my bolter, swinging it left and right to target imaginary foes. I notice a small green icon flashing in the corner of my vision as I do so, and quickly blink-click it. Suddenly my view shifts as if I was staring down the barrel of the bolter, a crosshairs illuminated in the center.

I roll my eyes again, returning my vision to normal. I'm starting to get the hang of this by now.

Satisfied that I'm ready for anything, I walk over and push the door open, walking out. I figure I'd better report to Lieutenant Litzberg, who now seems to be my new commanding officer. I navigate my way back down the corridors and stairwells of the officer's quarters, slowing down as I reach the landing we came through yesterday, what seems like an eternity ago.

I walk up to the blast doors onto the gantry, slowing down as I realize that I have no keycard to open the doors with. I can feel my face flush with embarrassment at my stupidity, and am glad my helmet is on, even though nobody's around to see. Feeling like a fool, I begin the walk back to the bridge, intending to ask Bonsefane for both a map of the ship, and a security keycard. As it happens, I spot him emerging from another stateroom as I pass a side corridor. He notices me a second later, and looks as if he's about to duck back in, but instead walks towards me.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Trooper Kage?" he inquires with an air of false politeness.

"As a matter of fact, sir, I was on my way to Kappa Company's barracks. But I just remembered that I don't have a security card, or a map to find the barracks in the first place."

The colonel slips a blank orange keycard out of his belt. "This should work everywhere you'll be going. I suggest you write your name on this as soon as possible, just in case. And I would suggest you take the turbolift down to the Middle Corridor- all the barracks face on it, so you'll have an easy time from there."

"Ah, sir, where's the turbolift again?" I ask, feelingly slightly foolish again. He suppresses a smirk.

"It's just past the blast doors to the Port Corridor- the one you came through. But if you have any difficulty, a map of the officer's quarters is posted just down the hall," he points down another side corridor.

"Thank you sir," I say, walking away. I can feel gaze boring into my back, and feel relieved when I turn the corner.

Sure enough, a large poster is hung in a glazed frame, showing a layout of the area, with room numbers labelled. I scan it, locating the turbolift several corridors and a flight of stairs away from from me, and turn back. As I do so, I catch a glimpse of movement in one of the side corridors and hear the sound of quick footsteps, but it's difficult to tell which direction they're coming from.

Remembering my helmet settings, I quickly roll my eyes, then select the view I had experimented with in my room. Sure enough, one of the corridors appears to have waves rippling out from it, and several seconds later an officer jogs past on his way to the bridge. I chuckle and continue on towards the lift, returning my sight to normal.

When I reach the turbolift, it looks just like an elevator in a hive's hab complex. With the difference, of course, that the Olympas habs' elevators were ancient, rusting buckets that slowly ground between floors, and occasionally plummeted to their deaths kilometers below when chains broke and corroded safety cables snapped.

Several seconds after I press the calling button, a chime sounds and the doors slide open. Inside, the lift is all wood paneling and stainless steel, my feet sinking into a plush red carpet. I scan the buttons on the inside, and select one labelled "Lower Artery." I feel momentarily weightless as the lift plummets, and a surge of fear tingles through me. Is it really supposed to travel this fast? What would happen if it fell? Would it go straight through the hull into space?

A few seconds later, the lift slides to a halt and I sigh with relief as the doors slide open, revealing another long hallway extending out into the distance. This one, however, is occupied. Perhaps a hundred soldiers, are running towards the lift. I blink with surprise, and reflexively reach for the bolter at my hip before I realize that they've stopped, mouths hanging open. One of them whispers something to his companion, and they all stare at me. An officer, probably a sergeant by the looks of him, curses at his men from behind them. None of them move.

Feeling slightly ridiculous, I step forward. The soldiers part before me like a wave, slowly backing away. Hardly surprising, given my appearance. I twist off my helmet, and turn towards the nearest trooper.

"Do you know where Kappa Company's barracks is?"

He stares at me slack-jawed for a second, then snaps to attention.

"Um, it's four companies down, sir," he replies nervously, pointing down the hallway. "Past Rho, Mu, and Lambda. Each company has its name on the door of its barracks- you can't miss it."

"Thank you, trooper," I reply, and plow through the rest of the herd. The sergeant briefly flinches as I come into his view, but snaps to attention and turns back to his charges.

"You lousy, good-for-nothing sump rats! All it takes is one little distraction, and you're standing around gawking like Scholam kids! It looks like we'll be running four more lengths now, I think!"

The soldiers jog off, grumbling among themselves as their sergeant bullies them forward. I grin. Some things never change, no matter where in the galaxy you are.

I try to remember what the trooper I talked to said; four companies down, I'm pretty sure. Perhaps a hundred meters down the corridor, I see a set of blast doors on each side. The ones on my right have a symbol that looks like a rounded flag sprayed on them, and the ones on my left bear what looks like an arrow with two lines coming down off each side. I recognize both as letters, but beyond that I haven't got a clue.

I continue on down, and soon encounter another two sets of blast doors. One has what looks like an arrow pointing towards the middle of a line, and the other is marked with two lines, forming an incomplete triangle. I look between them uncertainly. The trooper I asked had told me there were three between me and Kappa, so it must be one of these two. I figure I'd best take a guess, so I walk up to the door with the triangle.

The two doors are massive bricks of metal, several inches thick at the least I reckon. I look around, and notice a small ringer next to the doors, along with a keycard slot. I swipe my card through, and a small red light flashes next to it. I'm bright enough to realize what that means, so I give the ringer a good tug instead. Perhaps a minute later, the doors slide open to reveal three soldiers engaged in an argument. The closest of them, his head turned back towards what are presumably his squadmates, is holding down a lever next to the doors.

"Look, how could I have known what Daris had in his hand? Hell, he got three damned runs off me!" The other two ignore him, staring at me like beached fish, and look as if they're about to run for cover. I clear my throat.

"Is this Kappa Company's barracks?" I ask.

The trooper who was leaning on the door lever turns around, just about jumping out of his skin at the sight of me. His mouth works for a second, and he makes a strangled choking sound. Inwardly I groan, realizing I've forgotten to take off my helmet. If I had opened the door on a Space Marine, I'd probably be shitting my pants about now. I carefully twist my helmet off, clipping it back to my belt.

Seemingly reassured by the sight of a human face behind the mask, even one as ugly as mine, the soldier gets his voice back.

"Ah, no sir. We're Lambda. If you're looking for Kappa, you'll want the door across the way. Just ask for Lieutenant Litzberg."

"Thanks," I respond, and walk over to the other set of blast doors. I pull the ringer, watching Lambda's barracks out of the corner of my eye. The three soldiers in the entrance have been joined by a fourth, watching with interest, probably in anticipation of whatever horrible fate might await Kappa. They'll be disappointed.

The doors are opened by a shirtless man holding a large knife, who I recognize as the one who had talked back to me while we were digging up the Eldar artifacts. For a second he looks as if he's about to close the door, then seems to think better of it.

"Whattaya want?" he growls. I hear a collective intake of breath from the Lambda soldiers behind me. I resist the urge to put him back in his place. After all, technically I'm his equal at the moment, although I dearly hope that will soon change.

"I was ordered to report to the Lieutenant for my position here. Can you take me to him?" I ask, keeping my voice polite but firm, a particular talent I've learned from dealing with recalcitrant sergeants.

"Yeah, whatever. He's in his quarters right now, follow me."

He jogs off, while I keep up a brisk stride behind him as the doors close behind me.

The barracks is a whole different world than the rest of the ship. Although it still seems in fairly decrepit condition, walls have been framed up out of prefab panels covered in flakboard, and the dingy lighting is supplemented by lumen globes taped to the ceiling at strategic points, giving the whole space an atmosphere of a primal, firelit cave. The murmuring chatter of a company of soldiers wafts from several of the doors we pass by, giving the whole area a homey feel.

The improvised comforts remind me of my days in the Last Chancers. Although every day was a brush with death, I now look back on those years wistfully. At least there was certainty and order- we knew what we had to do, we accomplished it, and moved onto the next campaign, always looking for an opportunity to escape while we were at it. I snap myself out of my recollections, kicking myself. I'm not entitled to be old and soft yet.

We stop outside an ornate black metal door crudely mounted into the wall, vaguely familiar patterns etched into it. A gold eight-pointed star like the ones on my shin guards is mounted on its face, a staring eye in the center. The trooper steps up to it, moistening his lips. He gives the door a sharp knock.

"It's Valin, sir. I have a visitor for you," he calls. I wonder how he expects his voice to carry through the thick metal, then realize there's probably a hidden vox intake somewhere around.

The door opens, and Litzberg frowns out, then grins when he sees me.

"Kage! It's good to see you again, come on in!"

"Likewise, Lieutenant," I reply, stepping in. Valin looks like he's about to follow, but Litzberg closes the door on him. I laugh, and Litzberg smiles ruefully.

"Valin there's got some big ideas for his station. Apparently he was some sort of gang boss when he signed on with us about a year ago, when we last laid anchor at Footfall. He thinks that his old power somehow gives him authority over the rest of us, and unfortunately some of the troopers believe him," he explains.

"I've had men like that too," I confide. "They tended to improve their attitudes greatly after a few nights spent hanging by their feet."

Litzberg chuckles. "To be honest, I was hoping to have a little friendly fire accident happen to him, but so far he's gotten lucky. We haven't seen any combat yet, other than a little scrapping at Iniquity, and Alpha sorted that incident out, albeit with some collateral damage."

"Well, I suppose you're not just here to advise me on discipline issues, are you?" he asks, his expression turning serious. I shake my head.

"The captain sent me."

Litzberg sucks in his breath, and I notice his eyes flick towards where his shock maul is propped up against his bunk- much too far away for him to reach easily. On a starship, there is no discharge, honorable or otherwise, for those who fail to perform adequately. Food, water, and air are too precious to be wasted on deadweight.

I give him a (hopefully reassuring) grin. "I'm assigned as to your company. As a mudfoot."

The lieutenant gapes at me, looking stunned. Then he shakes his head with a laugh. "And here I was, thinking I was about to be spaced!"

"If the captain had sent me to remove you, you would have been a smear on the floor the second you opened that door," I reply. I'm starting to get the impression that Litzberg doesn't treat me too seriously. I suppose he's better than most of the other crew, though, who seem to wet their pants whenever they see me.

"I guess you're right," he admits. "Well, if you're really at the bottom of the pile, I'll need to assign you a squad. Seeing as how those two in Tassmen's bunch found you, perhaps that would be a good starting position."

I shrug. "Sounds good to me."

Litzberg grins. "Excellent, then that's all sorted out. But first, it's time I welcomed you properly to our little band."

He walks over next to his bunk and draws his knife, wedging it into a small gap between sheets of flakboard, then pries out one of them, carefully setting it on the floor. Concealed behind it is a small safe. He places himself between the lock and me, and after a few seconds it clicks open. He reaches in, producing a dusty bottle of liquor. I catch a glimpse of a few more equally dusty bottles, a few books, and box of shells for his bolt pistol before he closes it again.

The lieutenant smiles, cradling the bottle. "This is one of the only things I have left of my life before I ended up on this ship. I've been saving it for a special occasion, and I'd say having a Gods-damned Space Marine inducted into my company qualifies. If you would care to join me?"

"It would be my pleasure, lieutenant," I reply, drawing back a chair from a small, stained hardwood table set next to the wall. He sits down across from me, plumping down the bottle in the center and pulling out two small glasses from a case overhead.

Litzberg pours us both a shot, and we clink our glasses. "To Kappa Company!" he announces, before tipping back his. I follow suit. The liquor is fairly strong, and burns my throat as it goes down, but I don't feel any of the slight dizziness I would expect. Litzberg is blinking back tears, but pours himself another glass and passes the bottle to me. I fill mine, and take a small sip. The bottle is now around two thirds full.

"So, how'd you end up here anyway?" I inquire.

The lieutenant shrugs. "It's a long story."

I snort. "Well, it's a good thing we have time then."

He grunts. "If you wish..."


	6. Chapter 5: Memories

"Starting from the beginning, I grew up on a little backwater planet, Hadley's Folly, towards the rimward edge of the sector. Fresh out of Scholam, I joined the PDF, and got up to the rank of Major, which given the size of the force wasn't that big of an achievement. I had a pretty good reputation going among the officers, and my future looked good. We didn't have all that much real work to do, seeing as the planet hadn't seen an invasion since the Angevin Crusade when it was claimed for the Imperium.

Problem was, I did a little too well, and was slated to be transferred to the Guard. My family and I were worried sick, seeing as I had a wife and two little sons. It looked like I'd be shipped off Emperor-knows-where, leaving my family with no one to support them. But one day during lunch break, I was approached by a man calling himself Salvation. He promised me he could do a little bookwork- get my name off the lists, and make sure it stayed off. No strings attached, just helping out a friend. I should have known better, but I figured I didn't have anything to lose. How wrong I was.

It turned out he was from the Kasballica. He-"

"The Kasballica? What's that?" I break in.

"They're a criminal syndicate, dealing in proscribed goods," he explains. "They bribe or blackmail people like me to look the other way, while they import xenos artifacts, slaves, arms, or anything else that strikes their fancy into the Calixis Sector."

"But anyways, "Mr. Salvation" certainly lived up to his word. I never heard anything else about my Guard transfer. Each year the troopships would come and haul away our tithe, but I was never on them. I kept advancing through the ranks, reaching Commander in Chief of System Security by the time I was thirty. Of course, there were those naysayers who muttered behind my back about shady dealings, but they were never able to prove anything.

Of course, like I mentioned to you that was when my new "friends" started trading in on me. As commander of the PDF, I was also in charge of customs for our small orbital facilities. According to Calixis tradition, a cargo that has already been inspected at its port of origin can often have its customs checking waived to expedite unloading. I'd get anonymous messages, telling me to sign off on inspections forms for ships passing through. More and more Kasballica captains started coming through our orbit, raiders coming in through the Passage bringing illicit goods.

As you can imagine, I was in a bit of a bind. If one of the ships was caught with its contraband, the certificate of inspection could be traced directly back to me, and that would lead to some unpleasant questions. On the other hand, the Kasballica was always reminding me of my deferrals from the Guard, and I knew I'd face a lot worse than just conscription if I betrayed them.

Well, several years went by just dandy. The traffic through our port increased nearly ten times, and millions of Throne Gelt from import duties poured into the treasury. The orbital facilities were expanded, the economy boomed, and people were starting to look at me as the next Imperial Commander. But then the _Sapphire Prince_ showed up in orbit.

Seemed like it checked out to me- an old bulk hauler, just bringing through another cargo I shouldn't look too closely at so long as the duties were all paid. She had come through a few times before, just routine runs in and out. But the Kasballica went crazy. Ten of their enforcers showed up at my door, PDF troopers nominally under my command, and delivered a coded dataslate. When I decrypted it, I found I was to take every resource I had and kill anything that came out of the landers at the capital spaceport, and direct the system monitors to destroy the _Prince_. The message left no doubt as to the consequences should I fail, and warned me not to underestimate my enemy.

Thankfully, I took their words to heart, setting out with twenty squadrons of Leman Russ tanks and several regiments of infantry backed up by most of the garrison's Basilisks. Stopped all traffic in the Capital, and vectored in the defense monitors on my target in orbit. The Imperial Commander, old Lord Bernam, just about had an aneurysm. He was screaming at me over the vox, thinking I was trying to start a coup. We got to the spaceport okay, but as soon as we passed through the gates the trouble started.

The orbital lifter from the _Prince_ was still a few minutes out, but a strange ship had landed on the secondary pad. Somehow Traffic Control hadn't picked it up. It looked like a shadow, its smooth black hull only broken by an open hatch. Out stepped one of the strangest men I'd ever seen. He had a huge, wide-brimmed hat on, a big red cloak over a suit of mirror-like armor, and a huge sword strapped to his belt."

I hiss under my breath. "Inquisition?"

Litzberg nodded. "Exactly. Not that I knew at the time, of course. Anyway, he stepped out, and no less than ten Space Marines followed him. All of them had solid black armor, with skulls and crossed bones on their pauldrons. I was in the lead Chimera, with a squad of the Governor's elite guards, and the Russes following behind us, with the infantry in with them. The Inquisitor didn't pay us any heed, just kept staring up at the lander coming down. I slowed down the column to a crawl as the lander hit the ground, and watched to see what was going down.

I'll never forget what happened next. The ramp crashed down, and maybe fifty soldiers came charging out. Inside, it looked like smoke, and I wondered if there was some kind of emergency going on. Whoever they were, the soldiers were sure motivated, because they didn't even bat an eye at the Marines, just started firing with old lasguns, even though the shots just plinked off their armor. What really unnerved me, though, is that no matter how much punishment they were taking, they never once fell back into the smoke, even as it started to spread out from the doors. They always stayed a little ahead of it, and never looked back into the lander.

Then, a flash of green light struck out from inside the smoke. One of the Marines fell flat on his back, a big hole right through him. That was when I figured we'd better start getting involved. I ordered the Russes to move in, and started massing up the infantry for an assault. The tanks were lobbing in shells, tearing up big sections of rockrete and killing troops with every shot. Then another one of the green flashes struck a Russ, right through the crew hatch. Nobody was left alive in there. Even the Praetors, the Governor's guard, were starting to get a little leery, so I pushed in the assault before anyone would have a chance to start slipping away.

That was a mistake. The soldiers from the _Prince_ were decent, but whatever was inside the smoke was deadly. Swathes of green light poured from the smoke, killing squads by the second. We lost sixteen Russes within the minute, and didn't even slow down their advance.

By then I'd realized what a mistake I had made, and gave the order to pull back from the spaceport. As soon as we'd cleared the gates, I had the Basilisks lock in and start firing. See, the whole spaceport had a rockrete wall around it, to minimize backblast from outgoing shuttles, so there was only one way in or out. The enemy troops were just closing in on the gate when the first salvo hit.

The whole landing field seemed to explode, our soldiers a hundred meters away were knocked to their feet by the blast. By now it was impossible to tell what was happening beyond the gate- we were just blindly firing in. More shells came whistling down, and after around five minutes we thought nothing could be alive in there. I figured we'd sorted out our little problem, but things were really just going from bad to worse.

I called in the Basilisks on the Chimera's vox, but when I dialed there was only static. I tried the defense monitors next, but got the same result. I got out of the Chimera, and checked in with a few of the other vehicles. Everyone was getting static, even the troopers microbeads.

Well, we couldn't very well drive into the landing field in the middle of an artillery bombardment, so I just had to sit tight and wait. I hand wrote a message telling the Basilisks to stop firing, and sent it back to the garrison fortress with a squad in a truck. We just waited after that, the shells continuing to roll in.

I could already start to see my situation unraveling- even if I was able to get out of this mess alive, I'd be up on charges for sure, and before I knew it my head would be on the block. I spent maybe a couple hours thinking through my predicament, by which time it should have been high noon. So far we'd been too busy fighting or planning to pay any attention to the weather, which was masked by the smoke and dust raised by the bombardment anyway.

I couldn't help but notice, though, that it seemed awfully dark for what had started out as a clear day. I crawled out the hatch, and checked the sky behind us, the one direction I could anything through the buildings. It looked clear, but I saw what at first I thought was smoke, but then realized with shock that it was fog. See, the Capital _never _gets fog. We're in one of the hottest, driest regions of the planet.

And this wasn't any ordinary fog, like you might get in a river valley. No, this fog seemed to rush in like a tide, pouring through the streets and filling every crevice. Pretty soon we could barely see to the end of the block. The sun was entirely blotted out, just a thin haze of light managing to penetrate the fog. I looked up, and just by chance noticed a pair of engine flares streaking overhead, headed towards the garrison. About twenty minutes later, the Basilisks went silent.

By now around a quarter of the soldiers I had pulled out of the spaceport had disappeared- at the time I thought they had snuck off, but after the events later I have my doubts... Anyways, I preferred to think that the reason the Basilisks had stopped firing was that troops I had sent with my message arrived safely, and ordered the convoy to move into the spaceport.

We crossed the gate into a moonscape. There wasn't even the remains of any of the _Prince_'s soldiers, and the only traces we found of the shuttle were tiny bits of what looked like tinfoil scattered around the pad. However, all the troops complained of a vile stench, like rotten meat, that seemed to pervade the air. To keep any tongues from wagging, I passed the word down that the smell was from vaporized chemicals in the shuttle.

At that point, I really didn't know what to do. Technically, I had accomplished what I had been ordered to do, but the vox was still inexplicably down, and the fog kept rolling in, the sun getting ever fainter as the day wore on. I knew I had to look decisive or risk more desertions, so I reformed the convoy and ordered them to head back to base. I hoped that the system-wide vox relay there would be able to penetrate whatever was screwing with our comms.

That plan ran into trouble about halfway to the garrison, in one of the industrial districts. The only warning we got was when a lascannon shot cored one of our tanks, then a company's worth of men charged out from the warehouses lining the street. I had an infantry screen around the tanks, of course, but they were overwhelmed within seconds. We were bottlenecked in the street, and more of the enemy kept coming from the buildings on either side.

The tanks just rolled over squads of them, but some of the little fraggers had meltabombs, and within the first five minutes half our armor was gone. The infantry was getting massacred- they were able to hold their own on the ground, but autocannons and even a few heavy bolters in the upper levels of the warehouses were shredding through them.

It was at this point that I made a decision that will haunt me the rest of my life. I deserted, and ran for my life. I had recognized the area from my youth, and knew a shortcut through a utility tunnel that the attackers seemed to have missed. My command Chimera had been hit early in the fight, and I was out on foot snapping off shots with my laspistol.

In the fray, it was easy to sneak into one of the cellars, and I pulled off a sheet of flakboard covering the passage. It was a long pipe, barely big enough to crawl in, running out several blocks, installed when the owners had hoped to run out industrial power to convert the building into a factory. It was then that I realized the diplomatic shuttle pad I had used for long-distance travel was only a few blocks away from the exit of the tunnel.

Up to that point, I had just been running off blind training and self-preservation. But then, it started to dawn on me that if I could make it off-planet, maybe to one of the outer-system mining stations I had inspected for security reviews, I might be able to make it through whatever the hell was going on. I felt giddy with this knowledge, and wormed my way through that filthy, spider-infested pipe like a man possessed.

When I forced open the hatch on the other end and emerged into the air, the reality of the situation hit me. It was getting dark by now, but there were no lights on. The area was a residential district close to the house I had grown up in, but there was no sign of activity anywhere. Some of the buildings had broken windows or doors hanging off their hinges, but there didn't seem to have been any heavy fighting. I cautiously pressed on towards the shuttle pad, keeping my shock maul and laspistol up.

I don't know why, but I kept getting this eerie feeling of being watched. Whenever I looked around, there wasn't any movement, but my skin kept crawling on the back of my neck. Something seemed to be whispering through the fog, laughing at me. I was too creeped out by the feeling to pay much attention to where I was walking, so it was a bit of a surprise when I slipped on something.

I barely caught myself, just about bashing my own brains out with the shock maul. I felt something wet and slimy on my leg, and looked down. I just about vomited when I saw the mass of flesh there. It was barely even recognizable as a human, the bones scattered around the sidewalk, one of them propped up against a water valve. I got back up, feeling the blood draining from my face.

I'd heard all sorts of stories like this from the Kasballica captains who passed through, of course. Planets that were consumed by Tyranids or worse, their organic matter processed into fodder. But I had never expected to face the reality of these stories, on Hadley's Folly no less, possibly one of the most boring, nonthreatening planets in the galaxy.

I stumbled onward, paranoid delusions starting to creep into my head. The walls seemed to be closing in around me, threats waiting behind every door. Finally, I made out the shuttle pad through the fog, dim yellow lights glimmering faintly on either side of the gates. I rushed up to it with a last spurt of energy, collapsing against the wall and frantically fumbling my keycard into the reader.

After what seemed like an eternity, the gates slid open and I just about crawled in. The shuttle, an old Aquila lander, loomed ahead of me, the light from its open hatch promising safety. I felt my as if my head was being crushed in a vise, my eyes focusing randomly. I didn't realize it at the time, but the fog must have been some kind of gas, wearing you down into unconsciousness or death.

Anyway, it was then I noticed the smell of rotten meat again. This time it was almost overpowering, a stinking, vile wave of nausea. I heaved, but managed to keep myself together and staggered up the shuttle's ramp. A squelching sound, like a suction cup being pulled off a wet wall, echoed out from the street behind me. I collapse on the floor inside the shuttle, frantically slapping the button to close the ramp.

I rolled over, propping my head up against the bulkhead. I saw... well, I don't know how to describe it. It looked like an enormous man, bigger even than you. I couldn't see it all too clearly in the fog, but what I did see was enough to give me nightmares ten years later. The arms, legs, and torso looked about in the right places, but the head... it was far bigger than any man or creature's I've ever seen or heard of. The whole thing looked like it was made of pitch-black jelly, its proportions shifting slightly every step it took towards the shuttle, seeming to stare straight at me.

As the ramp closed, I just sat there paralyzed by fear for a second, then dashed past the passenger's cabin to the cockpit. My head was already feeling clearer as the air filters kicked in, and I jumped into the pilot's seat, frantically flipping the activation switches. I skipped all the preflight checks, praying that whichever pilot had last flown the shuttle had left everything in order.

I was lucky, and with a roar the engines kicked in, lifting the shuttle off the landing pad. I pulled up the navigation screen, scrolling through the list of destinations. I picked R52, a mining outpost in-system that I had visited a few months ago. The little Aquila hurtled up through the atmosphere, and as I passed out into space the vox crackled open. I could hear clipped orders filtering across, including several voices I recognized as captains of the system monitors. Looking out the viewscreen, I could see little flashes of light overhead- the _Sapphire Prince _was evidently able to dish out as much as it took.

I spent almost a week in that little shuttle, living off two bottles of water and a bag of snack sticks the previous travellers had left. When I finally reached the mining station, the workers there at first thought I was an escaped criminal. All they knew of the situation was that the routine daily checkin from System Command had been missed, which was apparently not an uncommon occurrence. They refused to believe my stories of the massacre at the spaceport, the battle, and especially the creature I had seen.

I spent several months there, the miners becoming increasingly spooked. There were no check-ins from System Command, and the _Sapphire Prince _was seen to translate into the warp shortly after I arrived. Finally, the _Hand of Iniquity_ arrived, hauling in another cargo of contraband goods from the Expanse. By some miracle, she picked up our distress signal, and the Captain took me on board. He heard out my story, and this is where I am now."

* * *

I stare at Litzberg, feeling new respect. "There's a lot more to you than meets the eye, Lieutenant."

He's been taking swigs from first his glass, then the bottle as he worked his way through the account. He looks back up, his eyes hazy. "Yeah, I guess so. I've made it this far, though, and that's all I'm asking."

I push back my chair and walk over to the door, taking a moment to look back. Litzberg is drunkenly muttering things knowable only to himself under his breath as I open the door and walk out, thoughts buzzing around my head. I can't tell whether it's from the alcohol, or the Lieutenant's story.


End file.
